Love Notes
by RochelleRene
Summary: Thanks for all the love, people!  A sequel to Housewarming - could be the next day, or later maybe.  Wilson is in the beginning, but just for context.  More Huddy-love-smut goodness!  Hope you like!  Please review - It's incredibly motivating!


**Disclaimer: David Shore's beautiful characters; just my fantasies**

"It's open!" Wilson heard House's gruff yell after knocking on Cuddy's door. He let himself in and saw a sight unlike any he had ever seen in his twenty year friendship with House. House was sitting on the couch, Rachel at his feet watching Sesame Street, folding laundry – male and female garments.

"Well, hello there, Mr. Mom," Wilson teased.

"Laugh it up, Wilson," House grumbled. "Did you wake up to an unsolicited blow job this morning?" Wilson paused mid-step. "Didn't think so, He-man. We have an arrangement: I scratch her back, she does nice things to my penis."

"Alright-y. So, where _is_ Cuddy?" Wilson inquired.

"She'll be back. She had one of those woman… baby… wedding… party things," House explained, "but she knows we're leaving."

As if on cue, Cuddy walked in the door, lovely as always in a short ruffled dress. "Hello, boys," she said, dumping her coat and purse on the banister.

"How was the woman baby wedding party thing?" Wilson asked. Cuddy looked at him, amused.

"Fine. Like all others," she replied.

House was putting on his leather jacket and moving toward the door. "She ate, she pooped, she slept," he told Cuddy, nodding at Rachel. "Honestly, I don't know what's left for you to do with her this afternoon."

Cuddy smirked. "I'm sure I'll think of something," she replied. "Have fun…what, exactly? Watching big trucks?"

"Cuddy," House sighed, "There's more than big trucks at a monster truck rally. There are dirt bike races, explosions… There are big trucks rolling over little trucks. It's awesome." She smiled that gorgeous wide smile at him. "Want Wilson to watch the kid and you can go with me instead?" House asked. Wilson looked suddenly flustered.

"That's alright. Go to your man trucks explosions dirt bikes thing," she quipped.

"You're missing out," House cautioned, as he leaned in and pecked her on the mouth. He walked out the door with Wilson, let him get halfway down the walk, then said, "I'll meet you in the car. Forgot something." He went back in the house and she was still in the hall. He pushed her against a wall, letting his cane clatter to the floor, and kissed her hard on the mouth, sucking her bottom lip. Cuddy was breathless. "I forgot what you're wearing," he whispered gruffly into her ear, his hands lifting her dress and feeling the edge of her panties. "Oooh, the red ones," he said, without even looking. "Keep these on until I get back, okay?" he asked, running his fingers along the thin piece of fabric covering her heat.

Cuddy shuddered and her knees grew weak. "You got it," she breathed, smiling up at him, eyes half-closed. He kissed her slowly, deeply, gently on her mouth, then slid his warm lips down her neck. He nuzzled the length of her body, in all the key places, as he stooped to pick up his cane. Then he walked out the door as abruptly as he had come in, leaving Cuddy leaning against the wall. She sank down against it, trying to catch her breath before Sesame Street ended.

He loved doing this. Right before one of them had to leave, or before they got out of a the car to go somewhere, he would pounce on her for just a minute, getting her wet and panting, before suddenly moving on to the task at hand. She knew their chemistry was intoxicating – Hell, she wanted him ten minutes after she'd had him. But she knew this was something else, too. He felt sure of himself being able to please her sexually, to make her hot and make her come and keep her happy in this arena. He was so much less sure of his ability to do anything else for her, so unaware of his own assets. She needed a way to show him that she'd be there waiting for him, whether he had left her sexually frustrated or not.

Wilson and House drove to the monster truck rally uneventfully. They found their seats and were taking in the sights when Wilson, forever House's keeper, broached the topic. "So, I guess unsolicited oral sex means things with Cuddy are going well, right?"

"Yeah," House grunted.

"'Yeah' yes or 'Yeah' kinda?" Wilson probed.

"Things are great," House insisted. "Too great," he added.

"How's that?" Wilson pressed.

"I'm just waiting for the oncoming train," House explained, not looking Wilson in the eye, distracting himself by watching a couple dirt bikes race around the tracks. "She's gotta realize at some point that she's too good for me."

"House, you can't think like that," Wilson instructed. "Listen, I have dated women like Cuddy and - "

House snorted. "You have _not_ dated women like Cuddy. There aren't 'women like Cuddy.'"

Wilson paused, surprised at House's possessive defense of her. "I mean, I know she's _your_ Cuddy, but - "

"My Cuddy or not… Wilson, this isn't some romantic, warm-and-fuzzy view of the situation. I'm not blinded by love. From a purely data-driven standpoint, you have not dated anyone like her." House insisted. "You couldn't even look at the history of your girlfriends and compile a hypothetical Cuddy out of their individual traits. Name someone you dated who was as successful."

Wilson thought about it. "Carolyn – who owned that art gallery."

"Yeah," House said, "Good point. She hung pretty pictures on walls. Cuddy is the youngest and first female Dean of Medicine at a prestigious hospital."

"Okay, fine. So what?" Wilson replied.

"Name someone else, anyone else, who is smart enough to truly convince _me_ – without promising sexual favors – that what I am thinking about something might not be quite right," House continued.

Wilson was stumped on that one. "Me?" he asked.

"I said without promising sexual favors," House replied. "Which leads me to the next point – She's sexy as hell."

"Lots of women are sexy, House," Wilson pointed out.

"Wilson, you have no idea," he retorted, shaking his head as he watched… well, a big truck rolling over some little trucks.

"I have had a _few_ more relationships than you, House. I've dated some pretty adventurous women," Wilson stated confidently, even puffing up his chest a little.

"Really," House paused, preparing to drive his point home. "Wilson, of _all_ the women you've dated – which I know encompasses most females in the tri-state area – have _any_ of them _ever_ worn thigh highs and stilettos while you did them on a desk, then let you do them _again_, then rubbed _your_ muscles until you fell asleep?"

Wilson was stunned silent, his chest deflating. The guy in front of House turned around, his mouth agape. "Yeah, I know, right? Up high!" House held his hand out to the guy, who left him hanging and turned back around. "You see? Even this bozo knows I couldn't have done anything to deserve something like that!" House closed the case.

"So what's your point, House?" Wilson asked, "You don't like being happy?"

"I don't like knowing it won't last. The logic of the universe says that she belongs with someone who is equally… I don't even know a word for it… equally Cuddy-licious." House explained, "There's no way an average guy, let alone an ass like me, can end up with her."

"Well, for your sake, I hope you're wrong," Wilson replied. "Maybe you should talk to her about these fears, House…"

"Good idea, Wilson. Maybe I should start leaving the door open when I shit too," House replied. "There're some things that are about intimacy, and some things that are just making the other person have to look at your crap."

"Okay. Well, I'm… happy for you?"

"Shut up." House said. "Look at that!" he exclaimed as a guy down in the arena lit fire to dynamite attached to the chair he was sitting on and shot across the field. "How the hell do you explain that to someone with words? You just gotta see that for yourself."

After the rally, House and Wilson went out for a couple beers and Wilson didn't drop House off at Cuddy's until shortly after 10. "House, just be happy for once!" Wilson chided as he stopped the car.

"I am, Wilson. It's just very unnerving, which makes me unhappy," House explained.

"I think you're thinking too much," Wilson said.

"You're right. I'm gonna go inside and not think. See ya', Wilson." House slammed the car door shut. There was a huge thunderstorm that had blown in and he got soaked limping up the walk. He unlocked the door and peeled his jacket off and removed his soaking shoes and socks in the hallway before padding up to the bedrooms. He passed Rachel's room and heard her little puffs of sleeping breath, then reached Cuddy's room, bathed in a golden light from one of the bedside lamps.

_Dammit_. She was asleep already. House sighed as he looked at her shape. Her back was turned towards the door and she was covered up to the neck in the comforter. He saw a note on the bed with his name on it and picked it up. This is what he was trying to explain to Wilson – innocuous things like notes she leaves him make his heart catch for fear that this might be the moment that he has to face the end. He opened the folded paper.

_House, _

_Just wanted to say thank you for watching Rachel this morning, for doing laundry, and for leaving me lunch (which was awesome). I missed you, but hope you had fun watching big trucks roll over little trucks. I did keep my panties on for you._

_Love, C_

_ps: I'm not asleep, you moron._

He heard a tiny suppressed snicker. He looked at her and grinned. "Think you're so clever, don't you?" he growled, crawling across the bed and pulling the blanket off of her. He froze. What the hell?

Cuddy was lying on her side, wearing nothing but the red panties, looking hot as hell. But all over her body she had stuck little pastel post-it notes – a dozen or so sticking to different parts of her. He was kinda flabbergasted when she instructed, "Start with number one and connect the dots." He saw that the one between her shoulder blades had a "1" written on it. He pulled it off of her skin. Turning it over, it read, "I love you, House. For so many reasons…" He felt a little flutter in his chest and another in his pants. This could be very fun.

He leaned down and kissed her back, right where the note had been stuck. "Mmm," Cuddy hummed. "You got the idea." He smiled at her. He ran his hand down the side of her body, gliding over her ribs, feeling her tiny waist, and resting on her hip. Her skin was almost hard to sense, it was so soft. She felt his callused palms sweep over her. The feeling of his large hands on her always turned her on. Sometimes she felt like he held her whole body in those two hands.

Number 2 was sticking to the small of her back. He pulled it off and it read, "…for using your brilliant mind to solve puzzles that save countless lives." _That's _s_weet_, he thought, tenderly kissing the spot. And she was insightful enough to know that he did it more for the puzzles than the lives.

Number 3 was right in the middle of her ass cheek. He pulled it off, but before he even read it he gave the spot a long wet kiss that made her laugh. Then he read the note: "…for being a relentless advocate on behalf of women with big asses," and he laughed.

"I will not rest until you ladies have the same rights as everyone else," he proclaimed. She laughed so hard it made the remaining notes flutter against her body. She rolled onto her back and looked up at him, her dark blue eyes smiling. They just kept laughing for a minute and he forgot to be afraid of the happiness. Her knees were bent up and she slowly, seductively opened her legs to him, revealing number 4 on the inner thigh closest to him. His pulse quickened and he was tempted to skip over her little project, but to indulge her he pulled it off and read, "…for hearing my side of things, even while you picture me naked." He looked at her and she smirked back at him.

"It's not easy, you know. Imaginary naked Cuddy is very distracting," he explained.

"How about real naked Cuddy?" she asked.

"Even more so," he replied. She smiled.

He went to pull number 5 off her other thigh until she cleared her throat. He looked at her face again. "I think you're forgetting a key step in this process," she reminded, wiggling her leg a bit.

"Ah, yes," he replied, "I told you. Very distracting." He bent to kiss her "number 4" thigh, running his tongue from the inside of her knee right up to her hip. Cuddy squirmed and moaned a little. "Why the hell did you have to make so many of these?" he groaned into her thigh.

"To prove a point," she replied, echoing his frustrated, eager groan. "I forget what it is now, though." He kissed across her belly to the other hip, then ran his tongue down her thigh to number 5, peeled it off and licked all the way down to her foot. He kissed her big toe, then read the note: "…for playing Sesame Street's theme song on the piano for Rachel." He smiled. He _was_ trying… not to be a parent, exactly, but to be _someone_ in her life. He was glad Cuddy noticed.

Number 6 was on her shoulder. He kissed up her leg to those incredible red panties and nosed at her sex. She was wet through already and he felt this bizarre torn feeling between his heart and his groin. Her notes were really – he didn't have a word for it - they were what he needed right then, to show him he wasn't completely letting her down. But the way she smelled and tasted and moaned when he touched her… He needed that too. She sucked in her breath when she felt his warm mouth near her, and he realized he didn't have to choose between these two delightful activities. He kissed up her body towards number six, running his hand up her leg toward her sweetness. He slid his fingers beneath the panties and ran them along her slit.

"Oh my God," Cuddy breathed. She was so unbelievably wet, like they'd been having sex for hours, and she felt so warm and good. He tried to control his breathing as he continued groping her and with his other hand he pulled number 6 off of her shoulder. Cuddy felt his hand freeze for a second, and she got scared. Some of these notes were more intense than others, but they needed to be said. He needed to be recognized. House ran his eyes across the words several times: "…for fighting the urge, every single day, to go back on Vicodin." God, she understood. She didn't think he was "all better," but saw the constant demon on his shoulder. He looked at her and could see the nervousness in her face. He just stared in her eyes and then leaned down to kiss her, his physical passion for her igniting with his hopes that she could actually understand him. He held her face in one hand and explored her mouth with his tongue. She felt relief and desire at this, and she moved her hand down to his other to coax him to continue his fun – their fun. He ran a finger across her clit at her urging, stirring her very core, and he slid three fingers into her. His mouth was consuming hers, and he felt light-headed, like some burden had been lifted off of him. He felt like a mask had fallen off, revealing his identity. He didn't have to pretend that he didn't want it, at moments almost as much as he wanted her. He just had to resist it.

"There's more, House." She whispered.

"Yeah, there's gonna be a lot more," he murmured into her hair, kissing her neck and ear. She put her hands on his head and guided him across her body to the bicep of her other arm. Number 7. He kissed down her arm, down each finger, while still exploring her folds and teasing her clit. She was losing track of this little game herself, couldn't even keep her eyes from rolling back in her head, but wanted him to finish it. He pulled number 7 off and read the words: "…for letting yourself fall in love with me, even though you're terrified." He felt a little lump in his throat, but swallowed it as he kissed back up her arm. She heard his low, gravelly voice say "Back at ya'," and she smiled to herself at his astute observation.

Number eight lay over one of her breasts and House practically shoved it aside to gain access. Cuddy played with the short hair at the back of his neck while he wrapped his mouth around her nipple, licking and sucking it, moving his free hand to her other breast, lightly squeezing just to feel it. He took his fingers out of her sex and began pulling her panties down her legs. He was completely caught up now, breathing fast and hard, trying to get her naked, trying to get inside of her.

Cuddy picked up the note and read it aloud to him while he unwrapped and devoured her body. Between her own labored gasps she read, "…for stealing things from patients' rooms to give to me."

"I only steal from coma patients," he said, with mock defensiveness. House wanted to taste her, to smell her, to feel her writhing body in his arms. He needed it. He kissed down her stomach, stopping at note number 9. He took a deep breath to gain some control back and he peeled it off of her perfectly toned stomach: "…for seeing so much good in me that you think you don't deserve me." He paused. This was too much, hitting too close to home. He circled her waist in his hands and lay his face on her stomach, unable to look at her.

"House," she coaxed. "House, you gotta stop with this. Stop waiting for some day, some moment when you think you'll be 'fixed' and allowed to enjoy this." He looked up at her, crystal blue eyes filled with - what? Pain, regret, joy, relief? "What is it?" she begged.

"I don't how to say it," he admitted. "It's like, it feels awesome, and it's hurting."

Cuddy thought for a few moments, holding his face as he gazed up at her from her stomach. Then she had it. "House, remember that morning when I wore that black lingerie, the corset and the garter and all that, and we had to go to work before you could… enjoy it?"

Hell yes, he remembered that. But he didn't see her point.

Cuddy continued, "Aside from just knowing I had it on, we saw each other at least five times that day and I knew it was all you could think about. And by the time we got home you were, shall we say, in a certain degree of pain." He smiled, remembering that very fun evening. "And what finally relieved your pain?" she asked.

He still didn't see where she was going with this. "Doing you in that outfit," he answered plainly.

"Exactly!" she said. "That whole day you wanted it so badly it eventually hurt, and it finally stopped hurting when you got it. Then it was just… bliss. What's hurting you, right now, is wanting _us_. But the thing is, you idiot, you _have_ it. It's in front of you every day. But you keep standing on the outside looking in at it and not really letting yourself just _have_ it and letting the pain of the wanting disappear."

He finally saw her point. "Cuddy," he said, "Are you saying my heart has blue- balls?" She laughed.

"Yes, House. Your heart has blue-balls." It made sense. He did keep letting their relationship roll forward, but not letting himself really own it and enjoy it. Instead he kept flailing in this vast ocean of every horrible thing he had ever done and would continue to do, thinking he was bound to drown. But she was his little life preserver. She couldn't take him out of it completely – get him dry and safe from all his memories and regrets – but he could hang onto her and just relax, knowing she'd always float. He kissed her stomach, her belly button, and sighed. He just smiled a big smile into her flesh. She couldn't see it, but she felt it, and was glad.

Number 10 lay right at the top of her wetness, already a bit crumpled from their writhing. He peeled up this last note: "…for doing everything you are about to do to this region of my body." He smiled again, then climbed back up her body to kiss her mouth. "Pretty confident tone to that one. How do you know I'm not too tired from watching big trucks roll over little trucks for three hours?"

"House, a few months ago you had a building fall on you and still managed to fuck me later," she retorted.

He smiled like he'd won a gold medal. "That _was_ pretty awesome of me."

"Yeah, don't get cocky now. You're only as good as your last performance," she teased.

House cupped her face and kissed her mouth softly, then with more force, slipping his tongue in, then out, running it along her bottom lip. She astounded him. She didn't even see that night for what it really was. There he'd been in wreckage, in ruins, and she was able to transport him out of it - like she had so many times before - to this place of joy. She was the brave one, the strong one, the one who persevered. His hands slid slowly down the sides of her body, then back up, memorizing every dip and rise. He kissed down her jaw and she felt his stubble leaving its warm scratchy trail. She let her head sink into the pillow as he moved down her neck to her breasts, covering each mound of flesh with kisses, licks, bites, using his hand to make up for only having a single mouth, while the other hand smoothly slid to her slit again.

The little post-it activity had caused him to stimulate her then leave her so many times, she was a time bomb. Her hips bucked at his first light touch and he knew she needed some relief. He slid his face down her stomach, smelling her skin, feeling every soft inch of it. He reached her sex and used his forearms to open her legs wider and his hands to hold her hips. He was just breathing on her now and she was making little noises that sounded almost like crying. "House," she whimpered. His name on her lips just drove him nuts and he put his lips to her clit, anticipating her jump and holding her hips down to avoid a broken nose.

As soon as he applied more pressure, sucking with his lips, licking with his tongue, she relaxed into it and he could let up his hold a bit, allowing her to move her pelvis up to meet his mouth and back down as he chased her orgasm with his strokes. It wasn't long, moments really, before he felt that familiar still come over her, the seconds before she fell. The thought occurred to him to tease her, to bring her back from the brink, but she had basically just given his heart an orgasm; this was the least he could do. He pushed a little harder with his mouth and moved his fingers into her slit. She lost it, crying his name over and over again while her entire body shuddered, her hands holding his head to her sex. He kept his tongue lapping at her, his fingers sliding into her, extending her orgasm as long as it could go on.

When it was over, she lay there, breathing hard and fast, limbs shaky and sprawled on the bed. He lay his head on her thigh and tickled her other leg with his fingers. She just kept sighing "God, House," which was nice to just lie there and listen to.

"You still have your clothes on," she observed between heavy breaths.

"Very good, Cuddy. I'm glad you're lucid," he snarked.

"Let's change that," she said, sitting up and causing him to roll his head off her leg and onto the bed.

He sat up and looked at her with a serious face. "That's fine, but I should warn you. I have covered my body with post-it notes." She laughed. "It was for Wilson, but we ran out of time."

"I'm glad my loving gesture is fodder for some future mocking," she said, peeling his shirt off his torso. As he lowered his arms, he pulled her to him and said into her hair, "It was really great. Really. Thank you. It hit the spot."

"Maybe one of them," she agreed, "but I know at least one other spot I wanna hit." She pushed him to lay back on the bed and she began undoing his jeans. She slid them off and straddled him, pushing her entrance against his erection. He was so hard that even the thin cotton of his boxer briefs was restraining him enough that he was uncomfortable. She held his face and kissed his forehead, his eyes his cheeks. When she reached his mouth, he wrapped an arm around her torso and another around to the back of her head, pulling her mouth into his. She tasted like… Did bliss have a taste? He moved both hands down to her bare ass and squeezed. He pulled her against him and lifted his pelvis to poke at her entrance. She moaned and met his pressure.

"God, Cuddy, let me in," he groaned. She pulled his boxers down in one smooth motion and was over him again, dancing her wet lips over the end of his shaft. He closed his eyes, trying to enjoy every moment and not rush, but then changed his mind and just grabbed her hips and pushed her down on him in one fast smooth slide. She gasped, he groaned, as always.

He felt her around him for a moment, letting her open more since he was pretty abrupt, and moved one hand from the side of her hip down the front of her pelvis, so his thumb could stroke her clit. That was all she needed. She started riding him with this perfect rhythm, meeting his every upward pump with her own downward thrust. She leaned back, pushing her hands into his thighs. He had to let go of her hip for a moment to move her hand off his bad leg onto the bed, leaving the other one where she had placed it.

"I'm sorry," she panted.

"Shut up," he panted back.

He kept his hand on her button, rubbing it in circles. He stared at her perfect body, stretched taut as she leaned back and pushed him deeper into her. Her breasts were bouncing, her hair was in her face, her mouth was open. And then she was coming and it was so gorgeous. Her eyes squinted shut and she bit her bottom lip, sucking shaking breaths in, holding them forever, then puffing them out to make room for more air. She was just wildly moving around him, her velvety walls clamping down on him and releasing over and over again.

When she was finished, he was selfish. He didn't let her regain her sense or her strength. He pulled her up like a rag doll and flipped her onto her stomach. He pulled her hips upward so she was bent at the knees, her hot ass sticking the air. He pushed back into her, so deep. His groan, her gasp. She was still panting from coming and he was holding her hips and just fucking her brains out. He couldn't stop feeling her tightness, her wetness, her ass in his hands. She felt like he was all of her, filling her, becoming her. She stiffened and he felt her tightening around him again. She screamed into the mattress. He thrust faster and faster until he thought he might hurt her. Her third orgasm of the night retreating she again moaned, "Oh, House," and he was done for. He grabbed her hips and pushed so hard into her and came with the low growl, pumping for what felt like whole minutes. He finally slowed and came to a still. He grabbed her thighs and lifted so she could lay stretched out and he could lay on her back, panting, moaning, even drooling on her a little. "That was way better than… anything," he sighed.

They lay a few minutes and then he pushed up and kissed her between the shoulder blades. He lay to her side and rolled her into the curve of his body. He smelled her hair. She felt his sweat-beaded body sticking to hers. Their breathing was getting slow and rhythmic as sleep beckoned.

"Will you please go to a monster truck rally with me?" he asked.

"Sure," she replied.

"Really?" he asked with surprise.

"Why not?" she murmured. "Big trucks rolling over little trucks… What's not to like?"

He smiled into her hair, laughing quietly at her joke. "That's very Cuddy-licious of you," he informed her.

"I try," she mumbled, half asleep.

"Me too."


End file.
